


Beast

by Akaiba



Series: Duty and Price [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen is being prostituted, Dubious Consent, M/M, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaiba/pseuds/Akaiba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was only supposed to happen once. Not... not again. </p><p>Cullen's devotion to duty and the Inquisition is put to the test.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beast

Cullen missed the draft in his loft. Staying with the Duke the night before the ball was necessary and they had to make it into the Winter Palace to ensure a stable Orlais after all of this, but it was so political and so far removed from anything that Cullen felt comfortable with that he half wondered what he was here for beyond directing soldiers around. He had let Leliana know that they would follow her order as well as his but she had seemed more amused at the concept of his attending the ball and refused to let him slip out of it. The Inquisitor had need of him, something only his particular skills could serve apparently. No one had thought to inform him of what that was and he was starting to think they were just pandering to him, giving him an inflated sense of purpose so he wouldn't think himself useless.

And so, he finds himself standing in the courtyard of Grand Duke Gaspard’s estate, in Orlais, about to halt an assassination and itching for the vial in his bedside drawer. 

He shouldn’t have brought it, but… what if he needs it? 

The sun has long since set but the itch has started, the burning fever under his skin that makes him agitated and unsettled. It’s behind his eyeballs and at the back of his brain, under his fingernails and picking at his stomach- roiling within him so that even blinking entreats the nightmares to claw at him. 

“I find the night air soothes the mind before a battle, no?” Cullen doesn’t jump, but his head turns sharply to where Gaspard steps from the shadow of the corridor and out into the courtyard. His steps are neat and his heels tip inwards, toes pointed out. Cullen wonders if Gaspard even knows how to let that chevalier’s stance drop, but then… Cullen cannot even sleep without his sword in arms length. He is hardly one to cast stones. 

“We’re going to a ball, not battle.” Cullen points out. 

“I find they are much the same.” Gaspard gestures, small but poised. Cullen imagines, as much as Gaspard seems to detest the Game, he is very good at it. He must be to be well established and be vying for the throne. Though, the way he tells it, it was stolen from him. Gastard taps at his own sword, strapped to his side even in his own home much as Cullen's is. "They use words where I would prefer a sword, but... once one understands how the battlefield works the principles are always the same." 

Cullen snorts, amused at the analogy, before remembering the man before him is a Grand Duke, and tomorrow he might be Emperor of Orlais. He shifts before responding, "I am ill-suited on this particular battlefield." 

Gaspard eyes him, eyes flicking down and then up Cullen's form from behind that damnable mask- why the Orlesians played such games with those Cullen would never understand- and Cullen feels as though he is being weighed. Assessed. He has felt this sort of gaze before but only once with that edge of intent. He remembers Starkhaven wind nipping at his skin, a King with piercing eyes who devoured every inch of Cullen. He does not think on that any more, he put that away and he carried on. He does not want to think of it now, either. "Yes. You are." It is agreement but it is like Cullen has failed something he should have passed, as though Cullen's military prowess is simple without the artistry of noble machinations to aid him. 

Cullen would disagree, that's what they have Josephine for. 

"So what is a Fereldan puppy doing in the lion's den?" Gaspard's question has a bite to it, teeth nipping for weakness at Cullen's sides, looking for a way in under the armour.

"I wouldn't have thought you would invite a mostly Fereldan cause to your aid if you were still so opposed to Fereldan itself." Cullen snaps back. There is no Game here, Gaspard is prodding for weaknesses that Cullen isn't in the mood to entertain when his skin burns like this. 

"The Inquisition is for Thedas, not simply Fereldan." Gaspard spouts back their own propaganda and Cullen knows he's glaring, teeth bared as he speaks.

"That's funny. I know of no Orlesians in my ranks, but the men and women of Fereldan have not hesitated to band together to stop the Breach." Cullen folds his arms. "They are for Thedas. You Orlesians play your games and have your balls while the sky rains demons down upon you and you do nothing but squabble over an empty throne."

Gaspard is smiling. Not soft and pleased, but one side curled up and a hint of teeth behind. It is an answer to a taunt that Cullen hadn't been aware he had given. "The puppy does have teeth then." A step closer, one Cullen refuses to step back from as he squares his shoulders and sneers.

"Of course you bring racism into it." 

"There is beauty in imagery and I do not deny what I am. But you, Commander, are an interesting one." He steps to the side and Cullen almost mistakes it for gaining ground until Gaspard keeps moving and Cullen realises he is being circled. "The Fereldan who calls himself the Lion of Skyhold."

Cullen does not move, he keeps his gaze forward and refuses to give an inch. "I do not call myself that. My helmet is a lion and the moniker has stuck. I do not fancy myself Orlesian." Cullen draws out the word with as much derision as he can, irritated when Gaspard only chuckles. 

"What a bite this puppy has..." 

"I am done here." Cullen turns and goes to leave when he feels a hand grip his wrist. 

Cullen spins on his heel and his elbow comes up, intent on cracking Gaspard in the face but the Duke dodges it and uses the momentum to pin Cullen's back against his chest with his arms crossed over his stomach. Three steps Cullen is dragged into and he is pressed into a garden wall as Gaspard pins his arms up behind his back. In no time at all he has been disarmed and held down like he were a wet-behind-the-ears recruit again. 

It's the withdrawal, Cullen says to himself. It has made him slow and weaker. He isn't at his best, he knows that. It isn't that he cannot best Gaspard at all, just... when he isn't at a disadvantage. But the Inquisitor stands by his decision, Cullen didn't need the lyrium. 

"Let me go." Cullen grits out.

"Do you not want to see my bite, Commander?" Gaspard's mouth is against Cullen's ear, hot and heavy as Cullen shoves back unsuccessfully. Gaspard is immovable.

"What?! No! Let me go!" He hisses, caught between calling out and the shame of being found in need of help like this. "I am a guest in your house, Grand Duke, you can't just..."

Cullen's voice trails off as his breath stutters in his chest. His hands are pinned by one hand, both twisting and fighting high on his back as Gaspard grinds his hips into Cullen's arse, crushing him to the wall as his free hand snags in Cullen's hair and arches him back. "Do you think I do not know the wild dogs I have in my house?"

"We are here to help you!" Cullen hisses, eyes wild and searching for an escape he will not find. 

"Your Inquisitor is as taciturn as an untrained mutt, I welcome you to the ball on my invitation but I do not doubt that you may turn on me." Gaspard is so calm. Cullen's chest heaves in and he struggles not to panic, clinging to outrage to keep his head. "He knew that I knew this, and do you know what he offered me?"

"Money?" That they don't have. "Influence?" That they don't have. "Power?" That they don't have. Cullen spits each as he struggles, only succeeding in making his wrists burn. 

"You, Commander." Gaspard purrs. Cullen's breath catches and his mind reels. "He offered your arse to warm my sheets for a night." Gaspard's hips circle against his rear again and even through his cloak there is no mistaking the hard length pressed against him.

No, Cullen thinks. No.

It is a lie. A mistake. A petty Orlesian barb, part of the damnable Game. Josephine would tease him for ever daring to think such a thing to be true. His teeth grit and he bares them, turning to snarl and watching Gaspard move his head so Cullen cannot bite. Good, the man at least knows he would. "Your lies are pathetic."

"Lies?" Gaspard actually seems confused. He lets Cullen go at once and steps back, Cullen whirling around to face him with a fevered gaze. His skin feels too tight and everything too raw, like wind-burnt skin under snow. If not for the adrenaline coursing through him he would have collapsed. "Your Inquisitor... he said you had done this before?"

"Before..."

"King Sebastian. You sold yourself to him for a night for soldiers to bolster your troops."

"H-how... how do you know that?" Cullen chokes out. Everything feels too close, his armour too heavy and restrictive, the air in his lungs too sharp. He is going to collapse.

"The Inquisitor told me." And this time, Cullen believes him. Gaspard knows. Who else knows? It stands to reason that Leliana would have told the Inquisitor, an explanation would be necessary when the troops arrived under Starkhaven colours. Of course she would not lie, of course she would tell the Inquisitor when Cullen told her not to. But this? Offering Cullen to another like he was... like a... the word echoes in his mind, screamed from his throat in a royal bedchamber as Sebastian leaned over him. 

"I have t-to..." Cullen is fleeing before the words leave his tongue, hurrying from Gaspard and back to the wing of the estate the Inquisition is staying in. 

He is at the Inquisitor’s door before he can think, hand already knocking- too loud, too frenzied.

It isn't true. It can't be. 

There's an advantage here that Cullen can't see, one that Gaspard stands to gain if he drives a wedge between the Inquisitor and the Inquisition's Commander. That's what this is.

Feran wouldn't do this.

He believed in Cullen, he had supported his choices, had listened to Cullen's counsel- they were friends!

The door opens and Cullen cannot speak. His tongue is too thick in his mouth, feelings too jumbled to articulate, when Feran's eyes narrow at the man in his doorway. "What are you doing here?"

Cullen blinks. "W-wh... what?"

Feran tsks in annoyance, leaning against the door and glaring at Cullen. "You should be with Gaspard, what are you at my door for?" When Cullen just stares at him, Feran makes another disgusted noise before gesturing abruptly for Cullen to walk into the room. 

The door closes behind them and Cullen feels ill. 

"You can't mean..." 

Feran brushes past Cullen to stand before him with an imperious look. Cullen doesn't recognise the man. Not with the frightened mage he'd met after the Conclave exploded. This man wears the masks the nobles wear, no inch of the frightened Circle Mage he had been, and Cullen is not sure he likes this look. It is cold and calculating. It isn’t unfamiliar but it’s the first time Cullen has truly noticed it and now he is pinned beneath it.

"The concept is not difficult, Cullen. You've been through this before." He turns his sneer from Cullen to the crystal decanter on the small table, pouring two glasses of whatever is inside. He takes them both and offers one to Cullen.

Cullen's hand is trembling when he takes it, mind struggling with what he is hearing. "You mean... Sebastian." It takes everything Cullen has to say the name. 

Feran gives a small smile and inclines his head. "Exactly." 

"I thought..." Cullen's grip on the crystal tumbler tightens. "Leliana, she..." Cullen swallows. "You knew what I would do. You sent her to me. You lied…. you..."

Feran gives an easy shrug, a lazy roll of one shoulder as he leans back. Calm. Relaxed. "A test of your sense of duty, Commander. You told me yourself; you would not give less to the Inquisition than you did to the Chantry." Feran sips at his drink, Cullen's stomach heaving without needing the alcohol to upset it. "And if we’re honest, you aren’t fulfilling that oath. I think you knew that when Leliana showed you that letter and you saw a way you could be… useful.” 

“N-no, I-I… I d-didn’t…”

“Cullen you leapt at the chance to be useful, to keep this Inquisition going.” Feran throws back his drink and when his face tips down again he is all sharp edges and duty. “You know what is at stake, Cullen. You think bending over for a few nobles who treat you well is a hardship? Compared to what will happen if Corypheus wins?”

“I-I…-”

“No, Cullen. It isn’t.” Feran snaps. He’s in Cullen’s face now, words hissed close but every syllable a marching order. “If I told you bending over and letting every Chevaliar, every mage, every Warden, every soldier who can lift a weapon, fuck you until you couldn’t stand, if I told you that would stop Corypheus, you would do it. Wouldn’t you?” Cullen’s face starts to turn away and in a flash Feran has his jaw clamped between his fingers, holding them facing. “You are weak, Cullen. A lie to Josie to draft a contract to keep you safe, a promise to Leliana you would never say yes, and look how you did? The men we got from Starkhaven saved so many, you did that knowing the lives you would save. Your withdrawal is getting worse and you are a weakness when we need strength. I will not allow you to shirk your duties, not when we need to save more lives!”

Cullen shoves Feran’s hand away, stepping back before he thinks on it. “My duties are to command your armies- I am not your whore!”

“You will be whatever the Inquisition has need for you to be!” Feran roars. His magic is contained but Cullen can smell the burn of ozone, feel it tug the hair on the back of his neck to standing, and he knows Feran’s control is being tested. “You think bedding a few nobles is the worst I- any of us- have done for this?” He spits. “You think the blood on Leliana’s hands, the friends and families Josephine has ruined, the humanity I have had to give up- the executions I have carried out, the lives I have ruined, the lies I have told, the fucking I’ve had to do- you think yourself above all of that?” Feran’s hands close into the collar of Cullen’s cloak and he shakes Cullen hard. “Everyone else can do their duty, what makes you so fucking exempt? To whimper over a little glass vial but think yourself so noble while the rest of us carry your dead weight?!”

“Y-you s-said-...” Cullen isn’t sure he’s breathing. 

“And the Inquisition has been dragging your broken self ever since! But I let you have your choice and now… now you pay your way and do your duty or… or the Inquisition has no further use for you.” Feran steps back and his foot knocks the glass Cullen had let fall when the Inquisitor grabbed him, the mage’s eyes falling to the dark stain seeped into the rich carpet as he toes the glass again. “Do I make myself clear?”

Cullen cannot breathe. He isn’t breathing and he isn’t sure he can make himself remember how with the vice around his throat. His head spins and all he hears is Feran’s words echoing in his mind. He is weak. His body cries out for lyrium and every moment he defies it his body withers until even standing is more effort than he can muster. He does not sleep for more than an hour or two and his mind is often scattered, his paperwork piling up until some of his subordinates have to step in. He stumbles on his bad days, is limp and bed-ridden on his worst. 

He is not giving all he can to the Inquisition. 

He is dragging it down. 

Cassandra checks up on him, Bull drinks with him, Dorian plays chess with him, Solas makes elfroot potions to ease his pains, Varric tells him stories, Sera drives him crazy until he is more angry at her than how bright the sunlight is… they all do their part and they shouldn’t. He takes up time, he’s a burden. The time he wastes nursing his withdrawals when they must all be focused on defeating Corypheus. 

If they fail, it will be his fault. 

Because Cullen Rutherford is too weak. 

“B-but… why?” Why… this? Cullen swallows hard, the low firelight of the hearth across the room casting Feran’s face in harsh shadows. He looks not quite… human. Like he brought more of the fade back with him than himself. 

“Gaspard likes imagery. You are the Lion of Skyhold. He wants to fuck you like the Fereldan dog you are and show you what a true lion is.” Feran’s mouth twists in dark amusement but Cullen cannot find the humour in it. “At least that is what he said. I was told he simply had a thing for blondes.” He shrugs. “But he signed the paperwork either way, so he won’t hurt you.” 

The… paperwork. 

The contract Leliana had given to him for Sebastian to sign. Cullen’s protection. He doubts it was an accident she simply had that to hand, so artfully worded in a hand he recognised as Josephine’s. He wonders how long Feran had the letter from Sebastian. How long the man schemed to get a document like that from Josephine without her protesting in outrage or how he appeased Leliana when Cullen seemingly acted out and agreed. 

But Feran isn’t wrong. 

Cullen has duties and he is not fulfilling them. He is failing the Inquisition right when they need him most and now… now he is refusing a task he is capable of fulfilling. Has fulfilled. 

This isn’t new territory, as Feran had pointed out. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that I… that you promised this for an invitation to the ball?”

“Because I honestly didn’t think it mattered.” 

It doesn’t, does it? Cullen thinks to himself as Feran turns to head back to the small side table, pouring himself another glass with his back to Cullen. The dismissal is clear. 

Of course it doesn’t matter. Cullen only ever needs orders and he has them now. 

The words that he wants to speak stick in his throat, the petulant need to say ‘but I don’t want to’ doesn’t mean much. He didn’t want to become addicted to lyrium but he’d done that in the name of faith and duty and he hadn’t doubted it once. Now they stand facing the end of the world and Cullen squirms in the face of what? 

He admires Gaspard, the man is a brilliant tactician. He is a military leader that Cullen respects and for all the inherent patriotism Gaspard has for Orlesian superiority, Cullen had enjoyed conversing with him. The exchange in the courtyard had taken a turn but… Gaspard had let him go. He had thought Cullen knew and even though he had apparently signed the contract, he had let Cullen go the moment he realised Cullen himself didn’t know what was going on. That was… something, wasn’t it? 

And did it matter? Certainly it should make it less off-putting if Gaspard is considerate, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. The Inquisition matters, saving Thedas matters, closing the Breach matters. 

Everything else is secondary. It falls to them all to make sure that there is a world left at the end of this. 

“I-I…” Cullen chokes, words unbidden as he turns and he flees. There is no other word for how hurriedly he moves or how the door slams, despite the late hour. Cullen hasn’t the mind to care and doesn’t that just reinforce how selfish he is? 

He staggers when he steps forward, armour scraping the wall before he straightens and manages to turn the corridor to his own room. 

Cullen collapses then, breath short and world to sharp. His mind burns and he aches for one thing, so desperate he isn't sure he's fully understood Feran. He can't have, not truly. What he said...

"The Inquisition has been dragging your broken self ever since!"

Feran isn't wrong. 

Of course Feran stands by his choices but anyone can see how much of a... liability he is. There are no telling which days the Commander will be conscious or not, which days he will clutch his head and tremble with each step. He does his best, but... that isn't really good enough is it? 

When Corypheus tears them all apart it won't matter if Cullen did the best his addiction allowed for- he has to do the best he can at all. As though he weren't strung out and spread thin. Like Kirkwall, like... 

He has to try harder. 

“Everyone else can do their duty, what makes you so fucking exempt?"

Cullen clutches at his head, knocking his head back against the door in hopes the pain will give clarity but it just exacerbates his headache. But there are no lit candles, no low burning fire, not in his room. He pulls at his cloak and lets it fall where it may, crawling into the room and trying to calm his breathing. 

"What makes you so fucking exempt?"

Is that how they see him? Everyone else shoulders as much a burden as he does but when he falters they have to hold his as well. 

There are no shortage of unsavoury tasks to carry out and Cullen does not pull his weight, he signs papers and he falls asleep at his desk. He criticises Leliana's ruthlessness, Josephine's love of the game. He picks at the companions Feran keeps, fusses over their flaws and only comments upon their usefulness. 

Do they return the favour? Does Feran ask their opinion of him and do they tell him Cullen is weak? That he is dead weight that they need to make better use of or cut loose?

"I-I... I c-cannot... give less t-to..." Cullen wrenches at his buckles and only loosens most of them, not unfastening them. It's enough to get the offending pauldrons and vambraces off, enough to feel like he can breathe. If only a little better. 

He slumps to the floor and grinds his teeth, feeling them itch in his gums as his bones chafe in his skin. 

It is going to be a bad night. 

Nightmares, fever, delirium... he will get no rest. His mind will torment him and he will be a state for the ball tomorrow. 

A distraction would be good... useful. 

Cullen scrubs at his eyes, what is he even thinking?!

"You've been through this before."

It hadn't been... bad. He'd stayed longer than the terms of the contract because it had been... nice. Cullen hasn't had ample opportunity for sex or companionship, Sebastian had been... Cullen is not sure he has the words to describe that night. Or the very long morning that followed. 

He had been trying not to think on it. Pushing it aside, pushing it down. No mistaking anything that happened for romance and what is done, is done. There was no need to dwell on it. 

This would... be the same. 

Cullen pulls at his hair, struggling to stand to reach the basin of water- frigid and a welcome balm as he splashes it over his face. 

Can he do this?

"You've been through this before."

He will not sleep this night anyway. Company would... lessen the pain. 

The Duke gets a warm body for the night, Cullen gets a distraction and the Inquisition gets the benefit of Gaspard’s good favour. Everyone wins.

Cullen swallows the creeping cold in his throat.

It is good, everything works out. 

Gaspard wasn't an unattractive man. 

Did it matter? 

No, Cullen thinks. It doesn't. 

“If I told you bending over and letting every Chevaliar, every mage, every Warden, every soldier who can lift a weapon, fuck you until you couldn’t stand..."

The cold in his throat stings and burns like bile, but his vision is clearing and he pushes down the memory of Sebastian wrenching that word from him. 

He hadn't been himself, he'd have done anything to be allowed release.

It wasn't true.

"If I told you that would stop Corypheus, you would do it. Wouldn’t you?”

It's... duty. Nothing more.

Cullen would do whatever it took.

Duty does very little to ease him as he pulls his cloak back on. There is no use for the armour, even if that might ease him, not when it would just prolong the inevitable. 

His hand trembles when he reaches for the door. Cullen pauses a moment with his fingers clasped around the cool metal, letting it hold him up as he sags before straightening again. He steps out the door before he can think on it a moment more, the door closing at his back like a sword stroke. Cullen catches sight of his face in the tall window across the hall. The blackness beyond it makes it the perfect mirror and he looks awful. Like he's about to face execution. 

Would Gaspard even want him?

His fever is making him sweat and he is pale, the effort of standing such a monumental task it shows how it strains him and pushes him to breaking. Cullen's eyes are bloodshot and there is four days of stubble grizzling his jaw, not exactly the picture of seduction. Cullen wouldn't even know what that was if asked. 

Sebastian had wanted Cullen. He had wanted Cullen for years, Cullen couldn't be sure if it had been thirty years later Sebastian wouldn't still have wanted him just to have him. Just because he felt owed.

Cullen is fairly sure he has never met Gaspard or done anything to warrant intense pursuit like Sebastian had,as though the King of Starkhaven had a point to prove before carrying on with ruling. Gaspard was a widowed older man, ruthlessly vying to snatch the throne from his cousin. Surely having the Inquisition more deeply indebted to him would... no, Gaspard had said himself he did not trust the Inquisition to hold its word. Feran had never used to be like this but now Cullen sees what manner of creature Gaspard saw in Feran. He does not blame Gaspard for not trusting Feran. 

His knock on Gaspard's door is clipped and hurried. Cullen does not want to be caught knocking on Gaspard's door at this late hour, nor does he want to cross the threshold. It is a difficult position to be in and the urge to flee swells to bursting in his stomach, the door opening and Cullen swaying with the dual need to go and stay. He has his word to keep, or the Inquisition's rather, but he isn't sure he can do this. 

"Commander." Its a cordial greeting but Gaspard does not hide his curiosity at finding Cullen at his door. 

Cullen gulps and forces his gaze to meet Gaspard's, instead of staring at a fixed point over the man's shoulder. He halts, surprised to see Gaspard's face. Not a mask. "You... your mask."

Gaspard's lip curls in amusement and he stands aside to let Cullen enter. The door clicks shut before Gaspard answers, "Contrary to popular belief, we Orlesians do not in fact sleep in our masks." 

Cullen fidgets in embarrassment, already feeling like a Bronto trying to navigate a pottery shop and failing miserably. "Right... y-yes." He takes a slow breath. "Of course you don't." Gaspard, Cullen notices, is not wearing his armour either. He is dressed for bed "Oh, did I...? Did I wake you?" There is no clear view of the bed from the front room of Gaspard’s suite. 

"There are less pleasant things to be woken for." Gaspard says with an easy roll of one shoulder, a practiced show of lazy control that Cullen takes to mean 'yes'. 

"Sorry. I... I did not think about the late hour."

Gaspard's eyes search his for a moment, and Cullen marvels how much more he can see without the mask and how he understands none of it. His face is as unreadable as Josephine's and Cullen shifts under it, uncertain what he should do. Sebastian had just taken control the moment Cullen went to him. Gaspard gestures to the decanter as he steps towards it. Like in Feran's room it is a needlessly ornate bottle and the amber liquid in it seems to be whiskey if the small measure Gaspard pours is an indication. "You look like a man who could use a drink."

The glass gets pressed into Cullen's hand but there is no force. It is Cullen's choice to take it, Gaspard does not let the glass go until Cullen has lifted it up. It is the second time this night someone has given him a drink and he does not refute the idea that he would do with it. He simply does not want it. 

What should he do with it? Let the burn down his throat soften his senses? His mind is already a battleground to keep it his own, he had wine when he last… did this. The taste of red wine, rich and full, does not sit well on his stomach- the memories too linked. They aren’t unpleasant but Cullen cannot put his finger on why he chooses to avoid them. They… distract. Cullen has never been one for casual sex and that term is painfully inadequate for what this is. He… he is painfully inadequate for what this is. 

“Perhaps, but I… I do not want one.” Gaspard does not seem offended when Cullen sets the glass down and Cullen does not doubt that it is a very expensive, very prized liquor he is wasting. That is either a testament to Gaspard’s wealth or his lack of care for such minor things but as the latter is very un-Orlesian, Cullen leans towards the former. 

“It is good to know the things you want.” Gaspard remarks idly, drinking from his own glass and savouring the flavour before swallowing. “It helps to know what others want, don’t you agree?”

Cullen clasps his hands at his back in effort not to fidget. He cannot look at Gaspard, instead focused on the amber liquid in the glass before him. “I would say I know what it is you want.” He doesn’t mean for it to carry the edge of accusation it does. It should be alluring, if anything. A tease. He'd seen the women at the Rose do it back in Kirkwall and the comparison makes his stomach heave but it's accurate... isn't it?

Gaspard hums thoughtfully, finishing has glass and setting it down before moving to sit on the painfully ostentatious sofa before a carved fireplace that depicted an exalted march- if Cullen rightly interpreted. Every inch of him seemed at ease but it was... practiced. Cullen imagined the man's true feelings might lay closer to his own, the familiarity of a battlefield more comfort than soft furniture. "I would say that what you want is more of discussion here." Gaspard says, his rumbling voice carrying weight in the quiet of the late hour. They could truly be the only people left alive for all that Cullen can perceive anything beyond this room. But then, can he say he would even be in this room if there wasn't a world to save? 

Gaspard's back is to Cullen, the man facing the fire with his oddly bared expressions now hidden from Cullen where he stands in the centre of the room. Gaspard sighs as Cullen hesitates in response, hurrying Cullen to say anything. "I am... here for... I am here. Aren't I?"

Gaspard looks over his shoulder. "Are you?"

Cullen's gaze snaps to Gaspard and he is annoyed. "What do you want?"

"I am a rich man, Commander. If all I wanted were a warm body for the night I would have hired as many escorts as I desired and they would be far more skilled than you at making a man feel wanted."

Cullen's eyes narrow at the insult, conflicted that the comment is accurate in his lacking skills but affronted by the sleight. "Then why don't you?" 

Gaspard smiles. Like Cullen's thinly veiled irritation is the most amusing thing he has ever heard. He gestures to the seat beside him. "Come, Commander. Talking like this is uncivilised." Cullen bites back that it was Gaspard who chose to sit down. He sits as directed and blinks in surprise when Gaspard moves a chess board into the space between them on the sofa. 

"...Chess?"

"I am told you play very well." Gaspard's eyes flick up from the pieces he arranges. "For a Fereldan." It's as flirtatious as it is challenging and Cullen isn't sure how to reconcile the flare of emotion it sparks in him. A challenge, however, is something he knows what to do with.

"I'll be sure to remind you of that particular remark when I win." Cullen finds that he is interested in this. He wants to play chess with Gaspard, he wants to know how a renowned Orlesian tactician plays and if he can indeed beat him. Gaspard has that same smile again and Cullen finds he wants to know what the man is thinking when he does it. Instead, as he grants Gaspard the white, he says, "You did not answer my question."

Gaspard moves his first piece and as his fingers rest on the top he lifts his gaze from the board. "How many whores and escorts do you think there are with what I might appreciate as shared life experience?"

Cullen frowns, "What does that have to... oh." He had not failed to notice the large, mostly empty estate. Nor the cordoned off wing that belonged to Gaspard's late wife. It was widely known what happened to Calienne de Ghislain but it was easier for Cullen to think of it objectively when Leliana and Josephine presented the facts as part of the abominable Game they so loved. It was less easy to ignore the loss that Gaspard must carry.

"When one has married and has known companionship, it becomes that which is the most lost." Gaspard smiles, and whatever pain Cullen expected has been dulled by time. The man merely presents learned fact. "It is your move, Commander."

Cullen moves his piece, his mind still addled and slower than he would like. Companionship, he thinks. Where the line of that ends he is not sure, but he cannot say his time with Gaspard is unpleasant. The man plays the Game in every facet of his very breathing but Cullen can see he values honour and his morals above them. He is a Chevalier first, a noble second. But he is a soldier under it all and Cullen identifies with that. 

“You… just want companionship?” Cullen is certain his voice doesn’t sound as disappointed as he thinks it does, and if it does then it is only because he spent so long building himself up and now…

Gaspard’s smiling again. “The terms of the contract were fairly explicit, Commander. It is becoming apparent that were not informed, however.” 

Cullen swallows. The apprehension is back. “N-no, I…” He cannot lie in this, Gaspard knew he had no idea what was going on when they were in the courtyard. "I had not been told, but... now I have." Cullen's eyes move to the board but Gaspard makes no inclination to take his turn just yet, regarding Cullen for a long moment before reaching for the decanter again. This time he does not bother with a glass. Gaspard takes a swig from the crystal bottle and when he offers it to Cullen, Cullen takes it. 

It burns on the way down. Bitter and sharp with a warm aftertaste of honey. Not whiskey, mead. How very surprising. Gaspard seemed to be full of surprises. 

"Lets finish this game, hm? Perhaps that might see you more... comfortable." Cullen's mouth opens to argue but Gaspard's raised eyebrow makes him close it. He could not have been more uncomfortable if he were at the ball already and someone asked him to dance. 

The conversation turns less... weighted. Cullen does not lose sight of the man he is talking with, well versed in talking circles around the sharpest players of the Game, but he seems amused that Cullen is so refreshingly blunt. 

The mead was set aside as he and Gaspard discuss battles and tactics, debating the old favourites of bygone wars and how they might have turned the tide, exchanging stories of the softer and more easily told scars they carry. 

"I heard you were at Kinloch Hold..." Gaspard says, rich voice soft but crunching through the thin ice he is well aware is there. He is not surprised when Cullen tenses. 

"Don't." His skin pinches and he burns. Need, he needs it so much. Gasping with thirst but no water or wine will quench this. 

He will die and still burn with this.

"Of course." Gaspard inclines his head.

Cullen's mouth is downturned now and he moves his knight. "Checkmate."

Gaspard smiles. He moves his king and Cullen blinks at the board in surprise. "Checkmate." Gaspard murmurs. 

"How..." Cullen's eyes flick over the board and back several steps in his mind before shaking his head with a soft laugh. He sees where he went wrong. "Well done." He grudgingly congratulates but he's still smiling, a small quirk of his mouth that Gaspard returns. 

"It has been a very long time since I found a worthy opponent to play against." It is a gracious acceptance of victory while politely complimenting Cullen's skill. Had Cullen been playing against Dorian, the mage would have been smugly lauding his win and Cullen would be rolling his eyes. This was... like cordial inevitability. As though there were never any other outcome and Cullen supposed he was perhaps being over ambitious to think he would best Gaspard first time. He was half the man's age and less that in experience.

Gaspard stands and Cullen is still admiring the chess board when the man holds out his hand for Cullen to take. 

Cullen looks from it to Gaspard and the ripple of apprehension bubbles in his gut before he forces himself to take the hand. It isn't as hard as he thought it might have been; more... anticipation. Gaspard's hand is warm in his, and rougher than Cullen expected of a noble. Cullen is guides to standing where Gaspard releases his hand to cup his face. 

In the next breath Cullen is being kissed, a muffled gasp of surprise escaping him before Gaspard is crowding around him, tongue pushing into Cullen's mouth, and Cullen's hands grasp at Gaspard's shoulders. The material of the clothing he sleeps in is light and all Cullen feels under the clothing is bulk. He is as solid as Bull and Cullen feels woefully out measured here. His newfound desk job has let a lot of his mass soften, nevermind the withdrawals racking his body to not eating, vomiting even water, not sleeping...

With a cold shiver that should be wary fear he realises he cannot best Gaspard in a close combat fight. He finds himself kissing back and what madness must he be sunk to, to find this vulnerability arousing?

"Are you here now?" Gaspard murmurs, mouth not gone far from Cullen's when he pulls back. 

"Ah..." Cullen's tongue flicks out to lick his bottom lip and he watches Gaspard's eyes darken, watching lust flare in the man's gaze at such a small gesture. He does not move however and Cullen realises he won't without an answer. He thinks that might be why his responses to Gaspard's strength are so skewed; because he doesn't think Gaspard will use it. Not against him. "I-I... yes."

Gaspard kisses him again and Cullen has never seen the man fight but he imagines it would be rather the same. A courteous agreement and then... domination. There is no other word for it. 

Two hands cup Cullen's face- one at his cheek and the other scratching lightly through the hair on the back of his neck. It is passionate and alluring, Cullen invited to kiss back until he isn't aware when he stopped being passive and was returning the same fevered want. He isn't sure when the apprehension quieted either. 

He turns his head sharply and breathes, sucking in air like he can't quite catch it as Gaspard moves his hands to Cullen's shoulders. "Commander?"

"Not... not in this." Cullen murmurs, uncertain of how he eases in Gaspard's hold. The tight fisted control he has of himself seems threatened but he isn't falling apart, just... relaxing the grip. "Just Cullen." 

Gaspard hums, as if contemplating it as his thumbs rub over Cullen's shoulders. "I prefer... puppy." Cullen's eyes snap up and something in his clenched jaw or his hard eyes makes Gaspard chuckle. "Yes, that suits you." He leans in for a kiss and Cullen meets it, but he pushes back. He pushes and tries to take over the kiss but Gaspard matches him. Gaspard's hands mould Cullen to the man's body, moving over him in just the right places to distract when Cullen inexpertly tries to bite at Gaspard's lip, only succeeding in having Gaspard bite him return. 

The sound he makes is sharp and echoes in the room. It isn't entirely unhappy, either.

So Gaspard does it again and Cullen moans. 

“Do you like being bitten, puppy?” Gaspard’s voice rumbles, and this close Cullen can feel it in Gaspard’s chest as each word rolls from Gaspard’s gut and is purred against Cullen’s mouth. “The feel of a lion’s teeth on your skin… does it make you shiver? Shake? Whine?” Each word is drawn out and Cullen feels the catch of one sharp tooth on his lip as Gaspard speaks. He swallows down the sound that pulls at him, fingers winding in Gaspard’s shirt. Cullen does not answer but his response isn’t required apparently as Gaspard kisses him again, mouth devouring Cullen’s as warm hands drop to push under Cullen’s shirt. 

Gaspard’s hands are rougher than Cullen expects, but he leans into them as they guide his shirt over his head and he ducks his head when Gaspard’s hands close on his bared skin. Gaspard seeks out his mouth again and Cullen gets lost in the feel of it. He is timid to touch Gaspard in return at first, unsure of where he should place his hands when Sebastian had taken the control from him last time… last time, he… 

His breath catches and Gaspard’s hands cup his face, pulling back to hold his gaze as he says, “Stay with the moment, puppy.” It’s as much a tease as it is comfort and Cullen finds himself nodding, mouth parted ready as Gaspard kisses him again. 

“Can I…” Cullen trails off because his hands have already moved. His fingers curl in the hem of Gaspard’s shirt, the man looking down to his grip before removing his shirt and pulling Cullen against him. It’s gentle, though, guiding Cullen like he has a choice. Gaspard has been fairly insistent that he does have a choice; Cullen is starting to believe him. 

“I would like it if you did.” Gaspard chuckles. Cullen feels it under his hands and he kisses Gaspard, gasping as the man groans and kisses him in return. 

This is unlike the last time. Cullen’s blood heats not out of excited need to obey and the firm hand over him, but he excites like an equal. Gaspard returns every touch Cullen gives, their hands sliding over each other’s skin with curious exploration. Cullen hasn’t done this in so long, certainly never had much occasion to indulge so slowly and sensually, and he’s rocking his hips against Gaspard’s without much thought. 

“Youth…” Gaspard murmurs, still amused and encouraging as Cullen wriggles in his grasp. “Ah, to be that excitable again.” He teases. 

“You’re not…” Cullen looks between them and the sinking feeling that he is failing already. “I-I… I’m sorry.”

Gaspard’s hand takes his and that smile, small and secretive like he’s seeing things Cullen can’t, as he says, “I assure you, I will. At my age it takes a little more than that, however.” His amusement and implicit look making Cullen flush.

“O-oh, I… I see.” Cullen sinks to his knees.

He finds it isn’t an order, and he’d be stretching it to read an order from Gaspard’s words, but he actually wants to. He wants Gaspard to be hard, wants to prove to himself that he can do this. Gaspard’s hands are gentle and warm on his head, letting Cullen do as he pleases. 

Cullen thumbs over Gaspard’s crotch, feeling the soft length of it through his trousers and familiarising himself with it. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips as he eases the ties of Gaspard’s trousers open. He kneels up and kisses Gaspard’s belly, he is finding that he quite likes kissing now he’s doing a lot of it- and participating this time. He kisses down the man’s stomach, so solid and defined in a way that Cullen’s desk job has softened, and noses at the coarse hair as it thickens downwards. 

Gaspard holds Cullen steady a moment as he sits back down on the sofa, reclining against the plush back of the seat and legs wide for Cullen to settle between- which he does without hesitation. “You are an eager one, little puppy.” Gaspard murmurs, interest thick in his tone as Cullen eases his cock from his trousers. The moniker is starting to sound affectionate. Maybe it always was, but Cullen is comfortable enough to accept it now. 

Cullen offers no reply, instead dipping his head to kiss at the length of Gaspard’s soft cock. Cullen does not think Gaspard will be one to fuck his mouth, not unless he asked, so instead Cullen takes the time to explore and adjust to what Gaspard seems to like. He is inexperienced and sure it shows, but Gaspard does not seem to mind. His fingers move through Cullen’s hair and over his face, squeezing at his shoulders when Cullen finally sucks the length of Gaspard’s cock into his mouth. 

He is gentle. A warm, slick weight around Gaspard’s cock as he feels the man harden on his tongue. Cullen’s fingers hold him steady, bobbing his head a little and moaning at the first taste of Gaspard’s cock nudging at the back of his throat. The taste is familiar, his technique lacking but Cullen makes up for it by repeating the things Gaspard moans at. Gaspard’s fingers tug at his hair, small hints of guidance that let Cullen know where he is wanted. Cullen’s hands lay on Gaspard’s thighs, feeling him flex and massaging the skin, moving higher and feeling his belly twitch with each aborted hitch of his hips that he restrains. Cullen doesn’t know why that makes him moan harder but it does, pulling his mouth back so he doesn’t choke now that it no longer fits in his mouth. 

Gaspard eases him off and thumbs over the slick, bruised lower lip as he smiles down at Cullen. “Come here, puppy.” 

It’s easy not to think. To not remember why he is here, to pretend he came of his own accord. Gaspard makes it easy, the way he regards Cullen as an equal and touches him not with the greedy hands of entitlement but of a man. A lonely man who is glad for the company. Cullen understands well the loneliness that comes with command and he knows that it is difficult to relinquish it even for a night, even to be just a man again. Perhaps he is making it easier for Gaspard too. 

Cullen stands and Gaspard undoes his trousers, like Cullen did for him. He mouths over Cullen’s belly as Cullen kicks his trousers away, Cullen’s hands moving over stubbled head and breathing heavily as one of Gaspard’s hands dips between his legs. Behind and up, nudging Cullen’s legs wider as a dry, roughened finger traces over his hole. “Do you want me to take you, puppy?”

Cullen frowns, confused as Gaspard looks up at him from the sofa. “Isn’t that… the whole point of this?” 

Gaspard laughs; a gruff rumbling roar of sound that he shakes his head at, unbidden and unrefined. It’s the most honest thing Cullen has ever seen him do. “When you put it that way, yes. But I’d prefer it if you wanted me to.” 

As if he has a choice… because he does. Gaspard is giving him one. Pressing it into the kisses and the touches, hoping he’ll stay and wanting him to but… Gaspard won’t make him. The door is unlocked, the corridors empty. 

Cullen could leave. The whole of the Orlesian court knows the Inquisition attends the ball on Gaspard’s invitation, he cannot undo that now. Cullen could have never come to Gaspard’s rooms at all. Why did he? Duty? The Inquisition? Does it matter? It feels… good. Not right, not wrong; just good. Gaspard is gentle, like a slow lapping wave and unlike the greedy hurricane Cullen has known before. He is enjoying this and fully in his own mind, his body his own to respond to each touch eagerly and not against his frightened mind. 

He sits in Gaspard’s lap, thighs spread wide around Gaspard’s waist, and kisses Gaspard again. “I want you to.” Cullen murmurs between another kiss. He hadn’t known it until he said it, but it’s true. He came to Gaspard because Feran had promised he would, he had the Inquisition’s word to keep. All Cullen is, is the Inquisition. He will do whatever it demands of him. 

But he is… enjoying this. Gaspard’s touch is pleasant and he is hard, his cock against Gaspard’s, the man’s raw strength around him and under him. He’d felt it when Gaspard pushed him against the wall, Cullen is not sure he can best this man. 

He thinks he might enjoy trying, though. 

“Oil.” Cullen moans as Gaspard kisses him hard, one wide hand kneading the flesh of his rear as they rock together. Gaspard ignores him for a moment, lost in the slide of his tongue over Cullen’s and how the man whines into him, before standing. With Cullen in his grasp. 

He does not support Cullen long before laying him down on the sofa but he is not out of breath for the maneuver, he doesn’t even grunt, Cullen even thinks Gaspard could hold him up for a while before his strength gave out. 

Cullen is reluctant to let go as Gaspard stands, eyes raking over Cullen’s splayed legs and sprawled form. Cullen feels his cock pulse at the attention, the covetous look in Gaspard’s eyes making him feel so desired and wanted. Cullen doesn’t know why it thrills to be under the man’s fixed attention like this, why it heats his blood and makes him so pliant. 

Gaspard’s cock just proudly from his crotch when he walks to a side table, nothing comical in the bounce of it’s impressive girth as he walks back and Cullen gets a full view of it. He had thought Gaspard fully hard when he had sucked him, but… there is no way he would fit more than half of that in his mouth now. He pays no mind to the vial in Gaspard’s hand, eyes fixed instead on his cock. He does cry out at the first press, two fingers slow but unrelenting as they spread him wide. 

“You’re very tight, puppy.” 

“S-stop c-calling me that…” Cullen grunts, gasping for breath to make himself relax. Gaspard is still as Cullen settles but his fingers shift the moment he senses the first hint of relaxation. 

“It suits you.” Gaspard repeats. “Besides, the fire in your eyes? It is beautiful.” Gaspard’s fingers shift and rock into Cullen in slow, deep thrusts. “I would see you match me in this, not submit meekly like a lamb.” The fingers thrust deeper and curl, Cullen arching and moaning loudly. “You wear the lion’s image, but I see a puppy.”

Cullen surges up, hands wrapping around Gaspard’s neck and kissing him hard, teeth clacking together as he rocks onto Gaspard’s hand. “I’ll show you lion…” He snaps, a smile curling his mouth. This is… fun. His belly jumps with arousal and excitement as Gaspard growls and bites back, a third finger pushing in and Cullen keens into the kiss. He loses command of it and Gaspard presses him into the sofa, Cullen’s legs twitching and kicking at his sides as his fingers spread the man wide and draw louder sounds from him. 

“Puppy.” Gaspard teases, laughing as Cullen glares at him, kicking a heel into the man’s back. “On your belly, puppy.”

“Make me.” Cullen taunts, unprepared for the way Gaspard’s eyes darken in unbridled lust- or the way it makes his blood boil with excitement. 

Gaspard’s fingers slip from Cullen and their hands meet, a grappling slide of muscle and strength that Cullen already knows he will not win. He does not make it easy, though. Cullen can feel how that excites Gaspard, how the competition and the fun of it makes him hot and hard against Cullen’s thigh.

A hand wraps around Cullen’s ankle, lifting him, bending him, turning him. Cullen’s hands drag against the embroidered fabric, trying to kick his leg free but unable to match Gaspard’s power as he finds himself folded onto his knees, face pressed into the arm of the sofa and Gaspard holding him down. He reaches back to shove at Gaspard but only succeeds in having both wrists held in one rough grip, cock rubbing against his arse as Gaspard leans over him. “Such a good little puppy.” He bites at Cullen’s ear and Cullen rocks back against him, snarling but cock dripping and ready for release. 

A brief reach for the vial and Gaspard’s cock is pressing slick and insistent at Cullen’s rear. The flared head pushes against him and Cullen doesn’t think it will fit for a moment. When his body gives it is with a sharp burn that sparks down his spine and makes him arch. Cullen’s body tenses and Gaspard’s free hand soothes down his back, kneading at his shoulders but keeping him pinned in place as he sinks into the hot clench of Cullen’s hole. 

It never ends, Cullen thinks, even as Gaspard’s balls grind against his arse he is sure he’s so full he will burst. The first roll of Gaspard’s hips is too soon, it burns again and Cullen grits his teeth as Gaspard’s hand winds in his hair and he stills. “Like a vice around my cock…” Gaspard grunts weight braced on his knees and the hand pressing Cullen into the sofa arm as balance. 

The moment Cullen catches his breath and relaxes, Gaspard is moving.

It is slow and the roll of his body against Cullen’s is like the beginning of an opera- soft, patient. Cullen his no idea how long Gaspard can last but the man’s girth is enough that Cullen knows he will be fighting a limp at the ball already. Unlike an opera, Cullen does not think he will be asleep before the second act. Not with how Gaspard uses his grip on Cullen’s wrists to jerk him back to meet his thrusts. 

“Have I conquered the puppy?” Gaspard’s voice is strained now, breath coming heavier and Cullen deliberately clenches around the length of him. He revels in the sharp intake of breath.

“That a-all you g-got?” Cullen mumbles into the fabric, crying out at the sharp jerk of Gaspard’s hips that has him bouncing on the man’s cock. 

“Oh, little puppy…” Gaspard chuckles and Cullen breathes in sharply at the drag of the man’s cock from his body. The head catches on the rim of Cullen’s hole and he stops breathing at the snap of Gaspard’s hips back into him. 

 

He wails, mouth wide, drooling on the upholstery that probably cost more money than he will ever see in his lifetime. Gaspard keeps his thrusts so measured but alternating so that Cullen cannot get used to the pace. His cock leaks freely onto the cushioned surface and he groans, pushing back for more with each hard thrust making his head spin and his breath come shorter.

Gaspard fucks stronger and faster than a man half his age, Cullen burning with the need to come and so soon he flushes at the embarrassment. He isn’t sure he’ll even need to be touched for it. 

“G-Gaspard…” Cullen chokes out, Gaspard tugging his hair and Cullen whines loudly as he clenches around Gaspard’s cock. He barely chokes out another sound before he is coming, back arched and sobbing in ecstasy against the fabric, cum splattering the sofa below him as Gaspard’s pace does not relent. His hands are freed so that Gaspard can take a firm, two handed grip of his arse, kneading and marking the flesh as he pounds away with a faltering pace. He is mindless to his own end now and Cullen can only cling to the cushioning under him to steady himself, sobbing with each too-much burn of pleasure through him. 

Gaspard’s mouth presses a hint of teeth to his neck and Cullen feels himself filled, wet heat spilled into him and marked from the inside out.

Later, curled in Gaspard’s bed with silk sheets around his body and Gaspard kissing lazy paths down his belly, Cullen asks what he has wanted to know since Feran told him. “Why me?”

Gaspard looks up from where his is kissing Cullen’s hip and he gives that soft, small smile that speaks of a wisdom earned only from years. “I saw an equal in you.” 

The lyrium withdrawal burns hot under his skin and Gaspard does not ask why he does not sleep even as exhaustion pulls at him so evidently, they are soldiers- the know the sorts of horrors that lurk at night in their minds. Cullen does not ask why Gaspard does not sleep either. Cullen’s first instinct is to say they are not equals, that he is but half Gaspard’s age and experience, but then he wonders at the empty house and the sad smiles, the look of a man who only has his duty left and Cullen sees a familiar reflection. 

Perhaps it is fitting that he wears the lion’s image.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr: akaiba.tumblr.com


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